


In Bed

by Savageandwise



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Angst, M/M, McLennon, Tumblr Prompt, Work of fiction, not my take on reality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-14 05:47:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13583556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savageandwise/pseuds/Savageandwise
Summary: Paul's reaction to John's car accident in July, 1969.





	In Bed

**Author's Note:**

> This was an anonymous tumblr prompt: Paul's reaction to John and Yoko's 1969 car accident in Scotland. John had 17 stitches in his face!
> 
> I'm slowly republishing the prompts.

John arrived nine days later- of course nine, always nine. Then he phoned Harrods and had a bed sent over. A double bed, for fuck’s sake. He had them suspend a microphone over it so that Yoko could comment on their music. So she could lie there, with her spinal injury and her concussion, or whatever the fuck was wrong with her, commenting on Paul’s music.

Paul tried not to look at the bruises on John’s face, at the stitches. He tried not to think about the fact that his first instinct had been to wrap John in his arms and kiss every stitch. In spite of everything. In spite of the fact that he was so angry with John that he didn’t know how to process it. 

Paul came in early the next day to prepare his voice. He intended to scream the next song, scream it from the heart, and he needed his voice to match his insides. Needed them to hear how he’d been falling to pieces for months. And now this, this last straw, John’s car on the side of the road in Scotland, the photos in the papers of the wreckage. It still made Paul ill to think of it. He had already lost him. It never occurred to him there might be something worse. He couldn’t even finish the thought. The idea of that final, irrevocable loss was all consuming. If he gave in, he’d go mad. 

He was only going to lie down for a few minutes. Only five or so, only because he’d slept so badly. He put his head on Yoko’s pillow and shut his eyes. When he opened them again, John was standing over him.

“Linda kick you out for snoring?” John asked with a faint smile.

Paul reached over to cup John’s cheek drowsily, out of force of habit. He started to drop his hand when he remembered they didn’t do that anymore but John caught it, and held it in place.

“No, I…thought I’d make an early start of it.” 

“Me, too.”

“Where’s Yoko?” Paul asked, panic blooming in his gut. He struggled to sit up but John pushed him down.

“Relax. She’ll be in later. You look like you could use the rest.”

“You’re one to talk-” Paul began but then his voice failed him. He thought that would be perfect for the recording. He fixed his eyes on the line of stitches marring John’s lovely face. And all at once he could barely breathe.

“Hey, what’s this?” John asked.

Paul shook his head, emotion choking him. He leaned forward as John leaned down and all at once they were kissing. His chest hurt. Waves of pain washed over him. He was empty and only John could still his hunger. But the more he took of him, the emptier he felt. 

John got into bed with him and they slid together, they fit against each other effortlessly. Paul wanted to cling to John, touch every part of him. It had been ages since the last time they had touched like this. Just the feeling of John’s hands in his hair, the sharp angle of his hips against his was intoxicating. Paul held back, like the first time they were ever intimate. Oh, years ago as lads. He held back and let John bend and twist him every which way.

“You’re burning up. Are you ill?” John whispered between kisses.

He had said the same thing over a decade ago, the first time. 

Paul trembled in confusion. Was he dreaming? Was it a nightmare? Any second now he’d wake to hear the news: John Lennon killed in motor accident. 

“Paul?” 

‘It’s you.’ That was his line but he couldn’t say it. He shook his head instead, pulled John closer. 

“I’m alright,” John said. “It’s only a few stitches.” 

It terrified him how in sync they still could be. Even now that it was over. 

Paul wanted to reach into John’s clothing, feel him tremble against him but he didn’t know if he could stand the rejection.

Paul kissed him instead until they were both breathless, pressed against him so he could feel how thin John had become and how much he still seemed to want Paul. He wanted to tell him he thought it was ridiculous. They had built their new world on spite and rage and pettiness and they had lost track of one small thing: it was clearly not over. 

Paul put his head in the space between John’s chin and his shoulder, didn’t loosen his grip on the man. He breathed in and out. 

In: ‘Don’t ever leave me.’

Out: ‘Alone.’

In: 'Don’t ever leave me.’

Out: 'Alone.’

In: 'Don’t ever leave me.’

Out: 'Alone.’

He woke alone to the sound of people shuffling into the studio and scrambled to his feet in time to see John ushering Yoko into the room. He might have thought he’d dreamed the whole thing, if it weren’t for the way John steadfastly refused to meet his eye.


End file.
